


unshielded

by debilitas



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert, Service Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23986243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debilitas/pseuds/debilitas
Summary: Though you feel small next to Makoa, you never feel vulnerable. In fact, there’s no safer place you could be— nowhere you’d rather be. Your home is at his side.
Relationships: Makoa Gibraltar/Reader, Makoa Gibraltar/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	unshielded

**Author's Note:**

> Never written x reader in my life nor do I read it I just wanted to support gay ppl and try somethin new. Love u
> 
> masculine reader obvs but pronouns and genitalia are not specified

There’s a lot to like about Makoa. From the warmth of his voice, that hearty laugh, to his genuine, unflinching love for others. Long, dark locks that are always soft to the touch, stopping at the base of his neck. When loose, the strands often ghost over the defined line of his jaw; that angular bone you often press kisses to.

Wet, messy, and filthy kisses that make him suck a breath through his teeth. Press the pad of a thumb into your bottom lip, urging it open. Makoa likes your mouth, but his hands— god, those _hands_. You like them more. Love them, even.

The skin that stretches over the bone is not soft, instead rough and calloused from a lifetime of hard work. Knuckles layered with scars, old and new, often a patchwork of purple and blue for the days after a game. 

But they’re warm, and they are gentle. The same fingers that could crush bone often thread through your hair or stroke your cheek as you drift to sleep. 

And, much like the rest of Makoa, they are big. Absurdly big. His grasp can swallow each of your limbs, and he’s able to hold your head in a single palm. He never fails to make you feel small: an easy feat for a man that can pick you up without the slightest bit of exertion. 

Though you feel small next to Makoa, you never feel vulnerable. In fact, there’s no safer place you could be— nowhere you’d rather be. Your home is at his side.

So, being nestled between tree trunk thighs is quite the familiar place for you. Not as much as you’d like, however. 

Makoa’s selflessness extends to the bedroom, making him prioritize your pleasure over his own more often than not. He’s all too willing to dedicate himself to your body, working you open with love and patience while his cock hangs neglected between his legs. Finds his relief in yours, insists it’s fine when he doesn’t finish.

Even now, slumped into an armchair, exhausted by the day’s events, he tries to shift the focus away from himself. 

“You don’t have to,” he says, voice warm and low.

“I want to,” you reply, prying the last layer of armor from his body. You push the heavy coverings aside, admiring his form.

That thick gear really does him no justice. It hides so much freckled skin, expanses of muscle, and his soft belly. 

_Function over form_ , you remember him saying to someone. Probably Mirage.

You’ve stripped him down to a matching pair of black cotton briefs and undershirt— something you’d swim in, while it hugs his torso in all the right ways. 

Makoa watches you, perplexed, as you seat yourself on the floor parallel. Then you trail your hands over his knees, toward his inner thighs, and he speaks again.

“Don’t have to.” His tone is almost shy. It’s been too long since you did this.

“I want this,” you insist, guiding your fingertips underneath the legs of his underwear. The skin is incredibly warm, muscles tense. “Do you?”

His barrel chest depresses as he exhales. One of those hands cups the back of your head, thumb petting your hair.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

You don’t hesitate. Digging blunt fingernails into the meat of his thighs, you mouth the outline of his clothed cock.

Big legs instinctively tense around you, pressing into your shoulders and pushing you closer. Makoa tries to move them, but you grip the muscle tightly, urging them to stay. You feel feet overlap behind your bent knees, and an experimental squeeze of strong thighs.

You make a noise of approval, sending light vibrations through Makoa’s soft cock. It twitches with interest, thick and hot through the cotton. Tracing the length with your parted lips, you recall the weight, the taste of it on your tongue.

...Yeah, it’s _definitely_ been too long. 

With eager hands you tug at the waistband of Makoa’s briefs, and he matches your enthusiasm. Each breath he takes is audible; deep and ragged, like that seemingly endless patience is nearly run out. 

He’s been outside all day, and it shows. There’s dirt under his short fingernails, a few minor cuts on his arm, and he smells of sweat. A hint of cologne from this morning lurks beneath it, subdued, yet unmistakable. It makes an intoxicating concoction; warm, masculine, and distinctly Makoa. 

His hardening cock springs free, head flushed a furious shade of red and steadily seeping precome. A quick glance upward reveals that he is watching you through hooded lids, hair tie failing to contain what remains of his topknot. It rarely makes it through a full day and you want to pull it loose, run your fingers through the dark strands, but there’s something you want even more.

Anchoring a hand at the base of his cock, you lick a short stripe along the underside, then take the head into your wet mouth. He groans, his entire body shaking before the grip on your head tightens. Pulling back the foreskin, you swirl your tongue around the heated flesh, coating it with precome.

When Makoa’s between your legs— where he prefers to be, legs thrown over his shoulders, sucking on your arousal until you can’t see straight —he says you taste sweet. That you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted, your pleasure is his favorite flavor. 

You can’t say the same. Come is bitter, thick and sticky on your palate, but that doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy it. You love what it represents: Makoa’s pleasure, his release. Knowing that you’re the man providing him with such ecstasy, and it’s all yours to witness.

Relaxing your throat, you take him further into your mouth. His cock slides over your flattened tongue, quickly hardening, head tempting your gag reflex. Dropping your jaw lower, you shut your eyes tight, taking him deeper, until your nose is crushed against the base of his dick.

You swallow, taking in strained breaths through your nose. Makoa is no small man, and neither is his cock. It stretches your mouth and throat to their limits, nearly making you relent.

Then one of those hands, big and rough and warm, cups the side of your face. Touches the bulge of his cock against your cheek, stroking your flushed skin fondly.

You look up at him, and he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Dark hair curtains the sides of his face, spilling over his shoulders as he tilts his head back. Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, full lips open as he takes in deep, uneven breaths. 

Newly invigorated, you move your head up and down the length. Steady and purposeful, stroking any uncovered skin with your fingers, a firm hand knotting in the hair on the back of your head.

“I…” Makoa gasps for air, breathing becoming increasingly harsh, unable to decide between watching you and throwing his head back. He’s normally quite vocal, only quieted tonight by his own exhaustion. “Gonna…”

You pick up the pace. Shamelessly drooling on his cock, hard and heavy, filling the room with wet and filthy sounds. 

Makoa comes with a series of grunts from low in his throat, more than one sounding like your name. He rocks up into your mouth, shooting thick ropes of come down your throat that you’re all too happy to swallow.

You pull away slowly, a newfound ache in your jaw. The heavy legs curled around you relent and you leave open mouthed kisses up Makoa’s abdomen, to his chest, and clamber into his lap.

He holds you close, cradles you against him, like you’d given him some kind of gift. Tries to thank you, but you press a finger to his lips, and mirror his warm smile. 

Makoa drifts to sleep, and you let him rest. Tuck your head into the crook of his neck, listening to the rhythm of his big heart. Ignoring your own arousal, the sharp pang of want in your gut, you try to relax with him. Warm and safe, fitting into his lap like it’s where you’re meant to be.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m @gibraltane on twt


End file.
